


Healing the Hearth

by StrayPrussia



Category: National Novel Writing Month - Fandom
Genre: M/M, NaNoWriMo, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 17:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16538819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrayPrussia/pseuds/StrayPrussia
Summary: Coming of age love story, spanning Washington, Idaho, and Michigan exploring the bounds of family and love. Everybody gets redeemed, found family.





	1. Chapter 1

Brisk was not the right word for tonight, sure it was the right tempurature, if you werent wearing a thin thunder-birds jacket with holes all over. Unfortuatly though, it was the only jacket Finley owned, and probably the only thing he would ever own he figured. As long as it still had a thread he probably wasnt going to be getting a new one. 

‘Too expiensive’ his mom would cry, sitting on her sofa and drinking. When he was younger he had belived the cans, assuming she had a Coka-Cola habit. He knew better now. 

He needed food, that much was evident. The stabbing pain in his side making it harder to breath and giving him a limp. Begging wouldn't get him anything, he was to far away from a major highway and didnt even have a sign. Besides, what if someone saw him? He didnt think he could live with that feeling.

So stealing it was, now the question became where from. Finley knew he wasnt going to be pulling off a heist like in the old ass movies his mom watched until the tape wore out. But he also knew stealing was wrong. He had wracked his brain for a thousand ways to get food without stealing but hadnt come up with anything and he was so hungry.

Pausing his walk to lean up against a building and wait for the cramping to subside, he took in the surrounding stores. A safeway, a macdonalds, and a Dollar tree stared back at him, surrounding the street and crowding him in with the cars that wizzed by. 

The three choises stared back at him and seemed to tower over his 5’8 frame, their stone construction making them seem immense and immobile. He could throw all 120 pounds of bone and sinew he had against them forever and it wouldnt change them at all. They seemed, in the moment like fortresses that boxed him in to this choice. Mcdonalds and Subway would be impossilbe, he would need to order, get his food, and then figure out how to get away without paying. So, Safeway. There was no formal security there but now that it was the end of the month everyone would be on high alert for theives. 

He would have to be smart, and fast, and probably very very lucky. Which means he would have to limit what he took. Soft things only, anthing hard would be heavy, and difficult to run with. That was as far as his thought process went before he found himself jogging across the street and into the store. 

He was so nervous he was sweating despite the wind outside. He wandered the isles for a little while looking at the various products and feeling is mouth water with each step he took. Eventually his hunger overcame is fear, right in front of the box of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The smiling character on the box, a round doughy creation, stared at him unblinkingly. He stared back, then looked around to see if the isle was empty. 

Carefully he lifted the box off of the shelf, debating tucking it under his arm, and deciding against it. He was already cold and the chilled cardboard was not helping. Plus the sharp edge dug into his ribs uncomfortably. With his prize in hand he headed towards the doorway.

And then the smell hit him, bread and doughnuts from the bakery wafting a yeasty aroma that reminded him of before everything went to hell. It was so alluring he jumped at the chance to snag an ungaurded bread loaf. 

That was when the yelling started. To his right, standing in front of the checkout lane was an old man, with balding hair and a wrinkeled smock. Fear came flodding back into feighntly and he took off throught the automatic doors without a direction in mind. 

What he didnt expect was the man coming after him, after he realized the feet pounding on the pavement werent just his. He got spurred on faster and faster racing down the hill towards lake washington without a plan. 

The pavement and the cars flew by and he started to slip on the pavement, his shoelaces flapping in the wind and his jacket making him look like a stupid bird. The man had attracted the attention of some bystanders and all of the sudden when he ttried to cross the street feigntly found himself slamming into the side of a police van. He had made it all of three blocks, and dropped his sandwiches in the process.

All he could think about was the shame of getting caught and the fear he was feeling as he was escorted into the back of the police van. That fear escilated when he was suddenly hit in the head. From the front of the van came a gruff voice.

“Stop bleeding on my seats” Finlay flinched away, dropping the towel on the ground before picking it up and trying to see where he was bleeding. Under the flashing glow of the passing street lights he carefully picked out strings from the gash in his arm that was bleeding profusley at this point. 

It stung to move his arm, and to press the towel against it and to move. But it hurt more to think about where he was going. He dreaded each time the car stopped, the radio crackled, or anything else happened that might indicate they would arrive at their destination.

Weakly he asked the man “Whats going to happen to me?” It took all his courage to ask, and he slumped in the seats, barely remembering to listen. The man turned down the radio and sighed.

“That depends, the store might be willing to let you pay for that stuff, and we’ll let you walk free. Or you spend the night and we let you out with a court date in the morning.” The man seemed bored, like he dealt with this daily and wasnt happy to be dealing with it again. Finally they hit the end of the line, if Finley hadnt been so tired maybe he would have mustered up some fear, as it was though he just slipped quietly out of the car when the door was opened, holding onto his arm, which had settled down into a dull ache.

The man grabbed his sholder and marched him into the front of the building, its red brick facade looking a little too much like blood in the rain that had started to come down in sheets. Inside the building bored looking men and women stood around disinterested, not even bothering to glance at their newest ‘guest’. Finley was led to a holding cell and locked in to wait. He even started to dry off and sleep when the door banged open again and an annoyed EMT walked in with a first aid kit.

“You, come here. Stick your arm through the bars.” Finley moved to do as he was told, swaying slightly on floor that sloped to a drain in between the two holding cells that demanded most of the rooms floor space. Finley stuck his arm through the bars as the lady tore open an alcohol swab. When he flinched back from the sting she only glared at him harder. So he did his best to stay still while she glued the edges of the wound back together.

“Someone will come get you soon. Dont get too cozy.” she barked at him before stalking back through the door.  
So Finley waited, dozing in and out of sleep on the hard metal bench, waking only to watch the cells get more crowded with drunks and other people picked up by the police. Finally around midnight according to the clock on the wall he was told to get up and follow a new officer, to a seperate room. 

This new officer introduced herself as detective Shelia Ross. “Now, I’m here to get your side of the story, as I’m sure your aware, theft like the crime you commited tonight could cost you $650, now I’m going to go ahead and guess that you dont have that money. So why dont you tell me your side of the story while we’re here.” she smiled at him, “Lets start with your name and where you live.” She looked kind, and reminded Finley of his second grade teacher. The one who shared her sandwichs with him.

Taking a deep shaky breath Finley said “My Name is Finley Garcia. I live in Lone Pine Apartments.”

“The one by the pizza place?” She tilted her head curiously and leaned forward to hear his answer, his stomach rumbled at the thought of pizza.

“yeah,” he shrank back into his chair and looked down at his stomach. She stood abruptly from her chair and smiled at him again.

“Let me go get you some food, think about what happened tonight and we’ll talk more when I get back.” She turned and left him alone in that tiny room. 

Not knowing how long she would be gone, Finley tucked himself into his chair and set his head against the wall, trying not to get claustrophobia. As he thought back on the way his night was going, he realized how much shit he was in. Even if he did get out of here tonight, his jacket was gone, he was without food, bleeding, hungry, and didn't even know where he was or how to get home. The more he thought about it the worse he felt and the harder it was to think clearly.

Eventually Sheila returned, bringing with her some pizza on a paper plate and a glass of water. She set them down carefully infront of her. Tucked under her arm was a file folder with some paper in it. Matter of factley she started to speak “Now, I understand your mother and you are on food stamps correct?” She didnt wait for him to nod, “and that you have missed more than half of your school days this year.” Finley winced and looked downcast. “Now, this seems fairly cut and dry, we have good footage of you stealing from that store. So, your best way out of here is to work with me.”

Finley nodded and put his head in his hands, spilling his guts to her. She listened closely, taking notes occasionally, and when he was done told him to enjoy his pizza before leaving again. 

This time he was walked back to the holding cell by a younger officer, and told he could leave in the morning. So he staked out a spot on the floor with the rough blanket he was given and did his best to sleep through the noise of the overnight cell.


	2. Chapter 2

Evidently he managed to get through the night ok, Finley woke up in the same spot he had fallen asleep in, still covered partially by the blanket and heavily disoriented. His bandages were peeling off but a thin scab had managed to form. Looking around it was evident what had woken him up, the door had been opened and everyone was shuffeling out. No one bothered to look back at him as he scrambled to his feet. 

All of a sudden the hunger, cold, sleep, and blood loss hit him like a train. His head was pounding in rhythim with the shuffle of the line, and the smell of alcohol that permeatied the small room wasnt helping his nasuea.

Evidently it showed on his face as he swayed back and forth, the cop escorting them out casting him a concerned glance. Finley was too tired to care though, suffeling out of the building and into the cold morning air. It felt great after the stifiling heat of the drunk tank, and in the pale morning light he felt almost as if a weight had been lifted off his sholders. 

And then he saw the street sign, 32nd and Myrtle. He was at least three hours away from home. The word fuck didnt even begin to describe how he felt. But he was out of options, so he started walking.

Eventually the pain faded into a dull rumble he felt throught his body. He knew when he started that no one would come pick him up, but as he watched families drive past, and as he was whipped by the artifical wind created by being next to the roadway he thought it sure would have been nice to have someone to rely on.

By the time he made it home, the sun had started to set and he was pretty sure he had hypothermia. It was no suprise when he walked in the door the heat off, but it sure would have been nice to have it on. Instead, the lights were off and he could hear gentle snoring coming from the bedroom. Turning the lights on he started to scrounge for food. 

Clean pot? Check. Pasta? More or less, it was old and probably stale, but still servicable. Salt and water made slow work of the pasta while he tried to find something other than noodles to go with his meal. Some bagged cheese would have to do. Throwing the pasta in a bowl with the cheese and some water he turned the stove off and sat down to his meal.

That was when shit hit the fan. His mom, rising from her room, and alerted to the presence of food by the sound of boiling water no doubt, shambled into the kitchen in a mess of blankets. She giggled at him. “Heeey Fin, Shark fin, Shark fin soup! Whacha got there?’’ She ploped down next to him, still drunk. Great. 

Finley mumbled into his bowl of soup, something about being hungry he thought. Right now he was preoccupied with gulping down the mediocer pasta as quickly as possible before she tried to steal some. “Aww, fin dont be that way. Share some with your momma!” She swayed forward with her hand outstreached and he recoiled against the fridge, putting his knees up in front of him. 

Bad idea. She scoweld at him, leaning forward farther and grabbing the bowl sharply. The fork he had been using hit the ground with a clatter. And that was all it took. She lunged forward and slammed her hands against the fridge behind him. Slumping down he began to plan his escape as she bellowed into his face. 

He was ungrateful  
Who bought the groceries  
Who paid for the apartment

The same old shit as always. And he was done with it. He shoved her off him, and stood. He didnt even know that he was yelling until she got over her shock and slapped him. He shoved her again and moved for his shoes. She kicked him in the side, forcing his weight onto his bad arm.  
He had had enough. Shoes half on he slammed open the door and stormed back out into the cold air. He was two blocks away before managed to unclench his teeth. Everything hurt, whether that was from the hits, the cold, or the walking he didnt know. He added that to the list of shit he didnt know, along with things like where he was going to sleep that night, or how to get some food. As he tried to figure these things out he let his feet guide him to where he needed to go. After an hour he needed to stop, the pain overcoming his anger. He still didnt know where he was going, or really where he was. He did know one thing; he would rather die than go back to that place. 

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his salvation. A train, with an empty box car, and an open door just starting to roll out. 

Without thinking about it he ran towards the opening and threw himself in. His shins slammed against the bottom edge as he landed, and he felt the bruises starting to form already, but as the train started to pick up speed and the wind started to whip through the open door, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. The stars overhead circled past and mesmerized he fell asleep right in front of the door.

He woke up to a pack hitting him squarely in the chest. Groaning and rolling on to his back in time to watch a pair of legs go flying over him too. By the time the second set of legs stepped over him he was awake enough to realize the train had stopped completely, and that he wasn’t alone. Rolling on to his side again, he pushed himself up to sit and face his visitors. 

Staring back at him were two slightly greasy adults. They stared blank faced at him for a second, before busting into laughter and falling over each other to introduce themselves.

“Sorry we scared you kid” said the woman on the left, Andy? Maybe? It was difficult to tell in their clamor. Maybe her name was Erica? In the shuffle hed gotten confused, then he realized they were waiting on him to introduce himself.

“It’s ok,” again with the mumbeling, “My name is Finley.” 

Leaning back the one who hadnt spoken yet said “So Finley, how long have you been riding rails?” She opened her pack and grabbed out a box of cigarettes while waiting for his reply. Passing them to her friend she waited for his answer.

“A...Day?” he tried to figure out how long he’d been asleep, but he didnt have a watch, and had no idea how often trains stopped. The sun was high in the sky now, so it had to have been some time. The girls started laughing again at the puzzled look on his face. 

“We got a baby here!” Andy crowed,   
“Look at him, you knew that already babe.” Erica smiled at her girlfriend indulgently. Finley looked back and forth between them, confused.

“are you two..?”  
“Dating? Yes sweetheart” Andy looked at him with a sweet smile, while Erica’s hand drifted into her bag to grasp something within.

“You can...do that?” Finley was lost, “Like girls can date girls????” Erica threw her head back and withdrew her hand from her bag. 

“Oh baby yes.” Andy looked confused, and stage whispered to Erica, 

“What just happened?” with a glimmer in her eye Erica explained what Finley was just figuring out.

Some of his school friends had just started to become intrested in girls, and to be honest Finley had never seen the appeal. Sure girls were nice but he prefered the company of guys. Suddenly lost for a second, it took Andy squealing and knocking him over and almost out of the train for him to come too. “Welcome to the queer club buddy!” She hugged him tightly as erica pulled them both back upright.

“I guess?” He had never heard of the word queer being used in any other way but to yell at boys who werent good at sports or hung out with girls (which made… no sense as his friends started getting girlfriends now that he thought about it), but if Andy called him that? And she was so nice… Besides the sudden lunge toward him that caused him to panic, she seemed nice enough. Maybe that was just their word for themselves.

Maybe it was his word? He wasn’t sure right now, the events of the previous night, had come flooding back and now he was confused and achy. Exaustion swept over him like a wave, washing him back down to the floor where he could rest. As he flopped limply down Erica looked concerned. “Kid you doing ok?”

“Hurts” that also seemed to concern her. Andy grabbed some Ibuprophen out of her bag to pass to him. He wordlessly accepted, not really caring what it was. Andy helped him sit up, and leaned him up against a wall of the car. 

The train had started moving again, and Erica wordlessly closed the boxcar doors. “What happened to you?” she asked, even though he couldnt see her in the darkness, he knew she was close by, and that she would listen. So he started to unload everything. His left, which they cheered for, and gave him tips on. As well as his night in jail, and the fight with his mother; which they clucked disapprovingly at. 

“Whens the last time you ate kiddo?” It was hard to tell who asked that. But he supposed it didnt matter, as a granola bar was pressed into his hand and he hurried himself with eating it. He didnt bother to answer either, knowing they would just disapprove.

While he ate, and tried not to doze off, they regaled him with storys of how they each started train hopping, for fun and to get out of their tiny town respectivly. Peppering their storys with advice, when to get on, when to get off, how to escape detection by the railyard bull, and more. In the sun the car warmed up significantly and reminded Finley that it was spring after all. Soon he was completely asleep on the floor, finally safe and warm.

It didnt last forever though, later, when it was night the train stopped again. He was shaken awake by Erika, and with Andy peaking out the door to check the coast was clear, told this was the end of the line. Groggely he stood by the door, following Andys signal they slipped out into the night one by one.

Erica pointed to another train, one across the yard that was going farther eastbound. They weren't going to let him follow them, three was often too big a group for experienced hoppers, but they wished him the best of luck on his trip.

He followed their instructions to the letter, staying out of the shadows and looking for an empty cart that was also in the shadows. He got lucky enough to find a gondola midway through the train that had a tarp left on it.

He was wide awake thanks to his nap in the boxcar, and thanks to his newfound paranoia of the bull; alert for every sound. So when a deer hopped over the connecter behind him, he just about pissed his pants.

He’d been told that if he was in cover, he needed to stay in cover. So thats what he did. He was sure that his breathing was so loud it could be heard from miles away, but he stayed frozen. And when a small brown nose peaked over the side, he sighed in relief. 

And then confusion set it. What was that? He assumed deer, but had never actually seen one outside of a zoo. Much less a whole group (herd?) of them. They looked soft, even the one with antlers that he assumed was the boy-deer. Their big brown eyes reminding him of the dogs in the sad pound commercials. He was utterly transfixed by their graceful movements, until his stomach grumbled and they got scared. Jumping over the next trains with loud clattering sounds.

The rest of the night he stayed up, trying to guess the sounds he heards. Mostly he thought it was crickets, but because that was the only insect he knew made sounds, he had no real idea. Occasionally he heard a frog too. Even though he hurt, and he was hungry, being warm and well rested made him feel at peace for the first time in a long time. That weight that had lifted off him when the train first started moving in Seattle had never resettled. This felt good.

Poking his head out from under the tarp, he tried to name the constillations. He found the big dipper, and the little one. Trying to remember what the story was behind them. Where they bears? Or racoons? He knew one of them had the north star in it, and that one was following the other. By the time he thought he got it figured out, activity had come to his train, he slipped back under the tarp and waited for it all to settle down. 

Eventually they started moving, slowly at first, but then with greater speed until they were moving so fast the noise was deafening. The tarp flapped on its free edge, but did a good job of keeping the wind out. It was a strange sensation to be hearing and seeing the wind whip past, but also to be safe from it. Eventually, even laying on the metal he was able to build up enough heat in his face cave to be comfortable.

Eventually though, all good thing had to come to an end, and for Finley, that was the overwelhming urge to pee and eat. The eastbound train didnt show any signs of stopping soon, and he was bored. Looking over the side the ground whipped by too fast for him to have any hope of getting out, but he could see a town on the horizon. 

He marvled, with his head hanging over the side, at just how flat everything was. Aside from the birms on the sides of the railroad he could see for miles in any direction. The sky was so clear and blue, and the sun so warm, it almost made him forget where he was coming from. The colors too were completely different. Instead of green and grey colors he was surrounded by yellows and reds. Fields with sprouting plants brought a vibrant green to the landscape. 

It was wonderful, and new. And he really really had to pee. Soon though the train slowed, it also started to go worryingly downhill, so he decided to bail while he could. Standing on the corner of the car, where it was widest, he prepared to jump. He would need to get away from the car so he didt get crushed by the wheels, as well as try and land not on the gravel. It was going to be interesting for sure.

Ok, deep breath in, squat? Sure, that feels right. Now lean forward Woah! Not that far. Ok, well its now or never. Three Two one GO! There was a second of freefall, then PAIN ow ow ow ow, Finley rolled on instinct, but still felt the sharp sides of the gravel digging into him. When he finally stopped the train was gone and his head was spinning. He stood up and stumbled, spreading his feet wide to gian his balance back and waiting for the world to slow down. He had made it though! Off the train and onto… the grass? Was this a prarie? He wasnt sure but as the adrenline wore off, his original purpose for getting off the train came flooding back. Before he pissed himself he hurredly stripped and squatted. He was hoping to keep his clothes semi clean.

With his mission accomplished he now had a new goal, to find some food and maybe take some new clothes. He looked towards the direction of the train, and figured that was his best bet. The last town it had passed had been hours back, not to mention they had been going faster than he could ever walk. So downhill it was. 

The trek was long, and difficult, there was no trail, even when it looked like there was. And his pants kept getting filled with long spiky seeds as he brushed against the plants next to the railroad. He passed the time by counting the railroad ties, and when he lost count he started counting all the flowers he had passed. 

It was dusk by the time he made it to the train yard, although right now he had no idea where he could go, and food was his top priority. So, he had to find somewhere either to steal from, or someone who would share with him.

The yard was in an already shady part of town, so finding somewhere with lax security should have been easy. Until you realized you were a 5’8 kid who weighed 130. Sure he could try and pry off boards, but there was no gaurentee there was food inside, and anything that was already open had been looted.

He was banging his head against a wall to try and think about where he could go when he smelled it. Smoke wafting from nearby, he tried to follow the scent, while his stomach started to overrule his brain. Underneath a bridge, hidden from the view of the street, was an old man standing over a fire, stirring a can of something that smelled heavenly. Finley stayed in the shadows, weighing his odds. The man was big, but that didnt mean he wasnt fast too. Finley was going to creep closer when the man called out to him.

“I have enough for two you know,” there was a smile in the mans voice, he sounded like every kind grandfather that had ever been or ever would be. “Come have a seat, it’ll be done in a second.” Now that he was invited Finley slipped down the rocks as quick as he could. The old man was missing an eye, but he the way he looked at Finley, appraising him, was still terrifying. “A runaway eh? Dont see to many of those these days.” The man chuckled to himself. “Sit, tell me your name and I’ll dish us up supper.” 

“My name is Finley” Gratefully accepting the of chili from this man he dared to ask “what is your name?” The man laughed, a rich bellow that sounded like santa.

“Now theres a question. You can call me Tack for now, Finley” The old mans smile felt warm, and his approval filled finley with a sense of calm. “Why dont you tell me about yourself and let an old man give you some sage advice. You look like you need it.” The man gave him a wry smile and for the second time today Finley found himself repeating his life story for a stranger. This one offered him a cloth bag, in return for his ‘excellent storytelling’ and some advice to find somewhere he could put down roots.

“Dont,” he said grimly “tear them up, not for the entire world. Plant yourself deep and dont let nothing shake you.” The mans demenor made Finley sad, the way he gave his advice made it sound like he had suffered a terrible heartbreak. “Let me trade you, story for story.” and the man weaved a tale, of love and loss and family that made Finley’s heart ache. Eventually the man retired, and Finley followed suite, finding the softest patch of dirt he could, and a small patch of soft plant to lay his head on.

He promptly regretted the plant decision in the morning, sure it smelled nice, but it also left his head wet with dew. Across the campsite, the man had left, and there were birds picking at the empty cans from dinner. There also was a neat stack of cans the man had left for him. Packing the cans in his new bag, he returned to the train yard to search for his next ride.

With a full belly and a good nights rest, he could finally pay attention to his arm. It hurt like hell and wasnt healing, but he figured there was nothing he could do about that. He have insurance or even know where he was, much less where the nearest hospital could be. His only option was to keep moving, and he thew away the bandages that he had been given. Air was good for wounds right? And it wasnt like they were helping, they were covered in dirt, and falling off him.

He tried not to think about it too hard. Besides, a train was just pulling out and he needed to go. So he attempted his first moving train. The day was just beginning and he was more than happy to catch any train headed anywhere. Especially when he found a cat onboard the boxcar he’d picked. Later in the day, as he rested in the shade, he was visited by some other hoppers, these ones were almost Finleys age but had an experienced look about them. They gave him the once over, and sat on the other end of the car from him, so he didnt mind too much.

“You dont belong here.” The statement was blunt, and came from the middle of the three kids. Finley recoiled at the statement.

“I’m sorry?” Finley scoffed back, “I belong here just as much as you do.” Immediatly he was on the defensive, pressing his back to the wall of the boxcar and using his bag as a sheild. 

The kid farthest to finley’s right smacked the middle kid, “dont be rude Jebediah. What he means is you look sick, you shouldnt be out here and your going to get yourself killed.” This made Finley relax a little, “look, my name is Anastas, and we’ve been doing this for a while.” The blunt way he said that, and the pain in his arm, made Finley realize that he was probalby right. And that stung in a way that he wasnt prepared for.

“Look kid, the next time this train slows down, we’ll point you in the right direction of town and send you on your way. Find a church and they’ll take care of you. Dont worry about it.” Without much choice Finley settled in for a long and boring ride.

He must have dozed off at some point, because next thing he knew he was being woken up by Anastas, and pointed to the door. “That way, keep walking until you hit the road, then follow the road to town.” Anastas clapped him on the sholder, grabbed his bag, and threw it out the door. Finley ran to the edge and held on, Jebadia stood on the other side of the door, waiting to see what he would do.

Finley figured he wasnt welcomed here, so he might as well go after his stuff. Even though the train was speeding up, he figured this was a do or die situation. So he jumped, and landed, and ended up bleeding. He backtracked to his stuff and figured his best option was to walk.


End file.
